Maybe Love
by Miss Mila
Summary: How do you run from someone who isn’t even real? Peter/Olivia, disregards the scene by the lake where Olivia found out about John. Rating just to be safe.


**Disclaimer: ****I don't own any of the Fringe characters, places, themes, etc. No copyright infringement intended. **

**A/N: ****Wow, I wrote this fic back during the last ****hiatus, but I'm only getting around to finishing/typing it up now. Actually, this resulted of two fics (that had strangely similar plots) being merged together. Anyway, April is almost here, and I my muse decided to come back and help me write another fic to help me through it, lol. Then again, maybe some of you aren't as obsessed as I am. I hope you all like it, it took me long enough to get out. By the way, this is Peter/Olivia, as always. With John (I guess you could say Olivia/John, but it's really not) thrown in for fun. **

**Summary: **_**How do you run from someone who isn't even real? **_

**Warning: ****Involves Olivia at a bar…so an alcoholic drink or two. **

* * *

_It gets easier with time. _

That's a lie. It never does. He was always there, watching. Watching and waiting. Always.

The many broken dishes were proof of that.

She wasn't really scared. No, 'Frightened' would be a better term to use.

He used to come just at night. When she got home from work and just wanted to eat something and go to bed. He would be there, and say "Hello Livia" in a way that made her shiver. And it wasn't always in a bad way.

That changed though.

He became more flexible. Sometimes he was standing at the end of her bed in the morning. Sometimes she saw him reflected in her mirror while she was brushing her teeth. Other times she would feel him behind her while she was washing dishes. She would feel his breath on the back of her neck, and his hands on her shoulders. And he would always say her name.

Sometimes he would come even closer, and she could feel him an inch away from her, even though he really wasn't. And sometimes he would kiss her; she could feel his breath on his face. A part of her wondered if it was real.

The way he acted was real enough. If she got a phone call from Peter she could almost always count on the fact that he would be there, arms crossed, and ask, "Who was that?". But he never came _while _Peter would call. Only after. She thought maybe he was jealous.

And then he would leave all over again, and that hurt. Just as much as it did when he left the first time. But she didn't cry. She was past that. Above that. But she wasn't above curling up into a ball and staring at the wall. You can give her any title you want. Anything, but underneath it all is a woman. A woman who can get hurt just like anybody else.

_Then_ she tried to talk to him. Tell him to go away. Like that day in the car.

She was driving to the bar, wanting the drinks to erase the lines and maybe John, too.

"Hey Livia." He breathed.

She shivered. "John."

John tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.

"John-n." She whimpered. She didn't want him doing this. She didn't like him anymore. Not after what he did. Not after he betrayed her.

"Olivia."

"Why are you still here?"

"I don't want to leave you." John said with a small smile.

"You already did, besides, I don't want you here." She said firmly.

"Don't say that Olivia, you don't mean it."

"Yes. I do."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't know!" She cried as she pulled over to the service lane. Her vision clouded as tears flowed down her face. She sensed John leave. Hmf. Never could deal with a crying girl. She started to get sympathetic looks from the passing drivers, so she continued on to the bar.

* * *

"Can I have a beer please?" She asked the bartender, a trial of tears still on her face.

The man nodded and smiled softly. "Guy troubles?" "Something like that." She downed the beer and motioned for another one.

Now, Olivia wasn't usually one to drink. The occasional champagne at a party, or wine with her friends. And then the beer or whiskey after a hard case. But tonight she really wanted to forget John.

A few more drinks and the bartender took her keys and phone away.

A few more and he cut her off, telling her he'd call someone for her.

"Peter. Call…Call Peter." She slurred slightly.

"Hun, that's not the guy who caused this, is it?" Bad things could happen when a drunken woman met the cause of her drunken-ness.

She shivered. "He's not John."

The man nodded and pressed the number two speed dial, knowing it was going to be this "Peter" guy.

----------------

Peter Bishop was sitting awake in his hotel room. Walter was fast asleep, but Peter couldn't find solace in sleep right now. He kept remembering how scared- no, frightened- Olivia looked. He knew she wasn't sleeping, and that something was bothering her.

He sighed and stood when his phone rang. Olivia. _Please not another case. _He knew she couldn't handle another case right now, and neither could he.

"Hello?"

"This Peter?"

Ooookay. That wad NOT Olivia.

"Yes."

"This is Rick, a bartender at The Lucky Four. Your friend Olivia…let's just say, she needs a ride home. I took her keys from her a few drinks back. Said to call you. I think she's been havin' trouble with some 'John' fellow."

Peter frowned. John again. He just couldn't leave her alone, could he? The bartender rattled off an address.

"I'll be right there. Tell Olivia to stay put."

"Alright, bye."

Peter hung up. Curse John.

----------------

"He said to stay put." Rick said gently.

Olivia nodded blankly.

"Hey, Olivia, this Peter sounds like a good guy. Forget about John." He said before moving on to another costumer.

Peter was true to his word; he was there within 15 minutes.

He walked over to Olivia.

"Hey." He said gently, touching her shoulder.

She shivered. It was just like John.

Peter frowned and moved his hand, he would ask later. Right now, he just wanted to get her home. "Come on, Liv. I took a cab. I'll drive you home, okay?"

She looked up at him. "Peter." She frowned slightly. "Stand still, why don't you?"

He chuckled and reached over the counter, grabbing her keys and phone. Then he put a bill on the table. "Thanks for takin' care of her Rick. We're leaving."

"G'Night!" The bartender said as he poured a similarly distraught woman a glass of wine.

* * *

"Peter…"

"Yeah Liv?"

"Slow down, I don't feel good."

Peter chuckled but did what she said. "I have to admit, not everyone can hold that much alcohol without puking."

"I've always had a high tolerance for alcohol…or was it John? Anyway, I don't _puke._"

"John. The bartender said you mentioned him."

She shivered. "Peter…you said you'd be there…"

"I did." He said firmly. "So are you gonna tell me what's up?"

"He won't leave me alone." She said after a pause. "Whenever I'm alone… in my house…he shows up. And talks to me. Kisses me. But he's dead. And he leaves. All over again. And I'm sad all over again." She said quietly.

She sounded like a small child.

"Walter will make him go away…it's okay, Liv. And I'll stay with you so that he doesn't come." There was nowhere he was leaving her alone at a time like this.

Olivia smiled slightly. "I don't think he likes you very much."

They were at her apartment in a short while. He guided her to the front door. "Keys?"

She shoved her hands into her coat pockets (yes, plural) and began taking things out and handing them to Peter.

Among the hone, hair scrunches, tissue pack, paper scraps, and change, she found her keys.

Peter rolled his eyes as she fumbled with the keys, trying to unlock the door. He grabbed the keys from her and managed to get inside without dropping anything. He left all her things on the table by the front door.

Olivia stumbled over the threshold, but Peter caught her around the waist.

He bent down so she could feel his breath on her ear. "Come on now, Liv. A little too early to have me carrying you over thresholds, eh?"

Olivia blushed. "Shut it and help me get up those stairs. I wanna go to bed."

He helped her into her room and told her he would be in the kitchen making coffee.

"I'll be right here if you need anything, Olivia. I won't let John bother you." He said, joking tone aside.

Olivia nodded firmly. "Alright, and thank you."

* * *

Olivia stretched tiredly. She hadn't been out drinking like that since college. She walked to the bathroom of her room and got undressed, stepping into the shower. She didn't bother to close the bathroom door; Peter wasn't one to peek.

The hot water poured over her as Olivia tried to piece together that afternoon. She shivered at the thought of the reason of her drinking. John.

"Olivia."

Olivia whipped around in the shower. "Peter?"

"Not Peter." John said chuckling. He was standing outside the bathroom, in her room.

Olivia whimpered involuntarily. She didn't want to see John right now.

"You've been avoiding me, Olivia." He said.

Olivia looked around the shower curtain. John was leaning against the wall, arms crossed.

"Go away, John."

John looked over at her. "That's what I'm talking about." He said calmly.

"Go away! You aren't real!" Olivia said, raising her voice.

"You better hope I'm real. Otherwise you're talking to a hallucination? A ghost? A memory?"

Olivia took the bar of soap next to her and threw it at John. "You're NOT REAL!"

The soap hit the mirror behind John's head, cracking it (the mirror, not the head).

Peter was immediately in the room.

He took one look at the broken mirror, and Olivia's tearstained face, and his face softened.

He grabbed the towel next to the shower and looked away as Olivia stepped into it. The he pulled her to his chest and let her cry.

"Don't let him stay, Peter, don't let him stay." She whispered.

The tears kept coming, and Peter held her closer. The towel between them was the last thing on their minds.

"Come on, Olivia. Get dressed and then we'll go get the coffee."

"Don't leave!" Olivia said desperately. Last time he left, John came back.

Peter nodded and turned to face the wall. "Hurry then."

She did as he said and they went and drank coffee together, talking and chatting at the kitchen table.

It was late when Peter suggested going to bed.

Olivia froze, coffee cup halfway to her mouth. She shook her head, and she didn't have to say anything for Peter to know that the nights were the worst.

"I can't Peter."

"Nonsense. Come on, I'll stay with you if you want me to."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

Olivia lay down in bed and Peter lay down behind her, putting his arms around her. She leaned back into him, already relaxing.

"Thanks Peter."

"You're welcome."

----------------

_Olivia's Dreamland _

A part of her _knew _it was a dream. Felt Peter's arms around her. Knew that she was safe.

But a part of her was dreaming. Wanted to see how everything would play out. And it was interesting to say the least.

The world of dreams is a very strange world indeed. Perhaps even stranger than our world. Right now, for instance, Olivia was sitting on a swing in the middle of a park. She was swinging back and forth, to and fro, watching the butterflies that were fluttering in front of her.

The scene was nice. A little breeze was in the air, and the sun was shining. And then it changed. No longer could she hear the birds chirping, and the wind wasn't there anymore. The clouds turned gray and the butterflies turned into those razor butterflies before flying away.

She knew he was there, and she knew it too. She stiffened in Peter's arms.

"John." Her dream-self acknowledged, voice shaking somewhat. She stopped swinging.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Just listen." John said, coming out from behind an oak tree.

"Not going to hurt me? Do you _see _the scene this turned into? And listen? Why should I?"

John sighed. "The scene only changed because you associate me with darkness…and being scared. And as for listening?" John walked closer and she visibly stiffened. "Because I have something to stay." He said quietly, stopping at the base of the swing set.

Olivia kicked the dirt under her feet. "Fine. But not for you, for the story."

"I understand. Why you resent me, and the fact that you love Peter-"

"What?"

"Honey, I'm dead. If anyone can see it, it's me. Now, I understand, but you don't. You think I'm the bad guy, and I want to say, I'm not. I worked for the Task Force. But that's not what I wanted to say. I wanted to say this: I'm leaving. I'm going. I've done everything I need to, and I don't want to leave you on bad terms."

"You're leaving."

"Bye Livia, and remember. Always."

This was too much for her to handle. Task Force? Good guy?!? Leaving? After all this time with him…what would she do now?

The real her moved back against Peter, seeking comfort.

The dream her hopped off the swing-set and stepped closer to John.

He was leaving. She took a step closer and he looked at her. She would make the moves this time. Olivia took the last step to him.

She felt a tear slip down her cheek. Dream her, and real her.

She fell into John's arms and hugged her.

"I'm sorry things had to end this way."

"Me too, Livia."

"I love you."

"Always, Livia, always."

The scenery around them faded away and another background came. A white room, and an elevator.

The elevator dinged open.

"Where are you going?" Olivia asked, pulling away from him.

"Wherever the elevator takes me."

"Bye, John."

"Bye, Olivia."

He stepped into the elevator, and it closed with a swish.

Olivia sat down on the floor, crying, and she felt the dream part of her fading away. She was waking up.

----------------

Peter woke to see Olivia looking up at the ceiling, crying silent tears.

Wordlessly he hugged her to him. She buried her face in his shirt and continued crying.

"He said goodbye." She said softly.

"He won't bother you anymore?"

"No, he moved on."

"You should too."

"I should."

"Mhm."

He continued hugging her, knowing how it felt to lose someone. And this was her second time losing _him._

"Go to sleep, Olivia."

"I…okay."

"I'll be here."

"I remember when he used to say that."

"I'm not like John, Olivia, I won't leave."

Olivia looked up at him. "I don't know if he was that bad."

Peter sat up against the bed frame and waited.

"Dream John said he worked for the Secret Task Force. Undercover ops and all that."

"Tell me about him." Peter said, tone light.

Olivia matched his position on the bed and drew her knees to her chest.

She was silent for a long time before saying, "He liked yellow things. Said they reminded him of the sun and daisies and sunflowers. Of good days and normal times."

Peter waited for her to continue.

"He loved water. The ocean and lakes and ponds. He fed the birds. Do you think the birds will notice that he's gone?"

"I'm sure they will."

Olivia continued like he hadn't said anything. "He loved to cook. Always tried new recipes. Half of 'em in languages I couldn't understand, and I'm quite the linguist."

"Was he any good?"

"Amazing. If he hadn't been a FBI agent he would've been a cook."

Another pause.

"He was scared of heights. Couldn't stand them. And elevators too."

"No one likes elevators much."

"He loved New York. And the Yankees. Baseball was his thing, though he could kick a ball, too."

"Really?"

"He loved to play Pool. Betting was another past time. He never lost."

"You're forgetting one thing." Peter added, voice bitter yet gentle. "He loved you."

Silence.

"I guess he did."

A lone tear rolled down her face, and he knew it was her last for John.

"Thank you, Peter."

"My pleasure."

And as he watched Olivia curl up to him and fall asleep, he frowned. He was desperately grasping on to the fact that John hurt Olivia. Because if he didn't…if he didn't then he couldn't hate John, no matter how much he wanted to. He couldn't hate the man who fed birds and longed for happiness. He couldn't hate the man who loved yellow and baked cakes. He couldn't.

He _could _hate the man who hurt Olivia, but that man was fading away, and he hated that.

Because, if he couldn't hate him that meant that in an ideal world John and Olivia would be together.

If it wasn't for the freaky science, Olivia would be laying in bed with John, engaged and in love.

In an ideal world, he, Peter Bishop, would be in Iraq, his father would be in St. Claire's, and John and Olivia would be free to marry.

"_Good thing it's not an ideal world then._" A voice in his head whispered, as if those were its last words before fading away. He heard a faint ping, like that of an elevator, and he knew John was gone.

He knew it was John. And maybe, maybe he was right. It wasn't an ideal world for a reason. And maybe it wouldn't be a bad outcome in the end.

After all, that which doesn't kill you makes you stronger. And maybe it makes you fall in love.

* * *

**A/N: So, what did you think? If anyone was confused and has any questions, leave a review or a PM and I'll answer it. I kinda like this fic (though I'm fairly sure I'm supposed to-I did write it). Can't wait for April!!!**


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